“She couldn’t stop crying. For hours. Dorian, she never even met you, but she couldn’t stop crying thinking about it, and I had to sit there and keep lying to her . . .”

Dorian’s eyes went wide and uncertain. He was too startled to answer her at first, but his quick breath fluttered on her mouth. “Why do you guys keep doing it, then? Killing people? Luce, I don’t want you to think I’m, like, rubbing it in . . .” He gave a sick, airy laugh. “But what the fuck?”

She had to face it, Luce realized. They’d just keep going in circles until she did. “You mean, why did we sink the ship your family was on? The Dear Melissa?”

“Oh, for example . . .”

“My friend Miriam had just killed herself. The Dear Melissa ran into—” Luce tried think of a way to explain it. “It was Miriam’s funeral. “We were all singing for her, and then the ship was almost on top of us. And our law is that humans aren’t allowed to live after—”

“After they’ve heard you.” Dorian was biting his lip, and his hand had stopped stroking her face. It was almost completely dark now. The only lights were a few faint sparks of green phosphorescence where the water licked the shore, the dim luminosity of Luce’s skin.

“Yes.”

“It still doesn’t make any sense, though. I mean, who gave you that law to start with?”

As soon as he said it, Luce couldn’t understand why she’d never asked herself that question. “It’s supposed to be . . . They told me it’s the same for all the mermaids in the world. That we all have the same laws.”

“But do you actually know where it came from? Like, who the boss is?” Dorian asked. Luce was flummoxed by the idea that there might actually be a boss. The mermaids were so free, the timahk so impersonal and strong. But, she realized, he had a point. The timahk must have come from somewhere. It must have a beginning, and she had no idea what that beginning might be. Dorian sat up abruptly and coaxed her head up onto his knee. “Luce, okay, this is going to sound crazy. But I have this theory, and I can’t stop wondering if maybe I’m onto something . . .”

“What theory?”

“I mean . . .” Dorian seemed embarrassed, but he pushed ahead. “What if you used to be human, and you just don’t know it? Because I realized there are all these things that don’t make sense, like you knowing how to read, but they would if . . . like, if the mermaids are the ones who are really enchanted? If, okay, if somebody is using all of you.” Luce was glad that she was lying down. The words swam through her, bright and swarming and unmanageable. He was so close to the truth, but also so wrong . . .